Miserable at Best
by mwuh-awesome
Summary: 'The last nail in the coffin of thorns; the blood needed to be there. So it was. And, for a while, everything was okay. Empty, broken, but okay. The way it was supposed to be. Then someone else had to get involved.' Past!Edvy Future!RoyEd. Mentions of nondescript self-harm and nondescript attempted suicide.


**A.N:** I was on Tumblr a few weeks ago and I kept seeing edvy pictures. Never really had an opinion about them before but… now, I kind of ship them. Not as hard as RoyEd but I can appreciate the bitter pain and tragedy that pairing would have. I mean, Envy is a phyco nut-job and Ed is a tortured little soul, put them together and you get one major Romeo and Juliet complex.

So, like the little angst-muffin I am, I went on in search of some good, heart-wrenching Edvy fics. And I couldn't even find one. Not one. They were all, Envy and Ed get married and have a billion kids and make daisy chains and skip merrily into the sunset. I'm not bagging out all Edvy fics! That's only the handful I actually read.

So I thought I'd try (*cringe*) and give it a go. Even if Envy isn't even _in _the story yet… and probably won't be except for flashbacks… hehe, fail on the whole Edvy thing…

Please! If someone knows some beautiful (well written, angst-y and actually _believable) _Edvy fics, preferable with a touch of tragedy, please, please gimme a link. One shot or mulit-chapter, I don't care.

**Summary: '**The last nail in the coffin of thorns; the blood _needed _to be there. So it was. And, for a while, everything was okay. Empty, broken, but okay. The way it was supposed to be. Then someone else had to get involved.' Past!Edvy Future!RoyEd. Mentions of nondescript self-harm and nondescript attempted suicide.

**Pairing:** Past, nondescriptive!Edvy and future RoyEd.

**Warnings:** Non descriptive mentions of suicide and self-harm. (please don't read if your bothered by that).

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

_Because these words were never easier for me to say  
Or her to second guess  
But I guess  
That I can live without you but  
Without you I'll be miserable at best_

_You're all that I hoped I'd find_  
_In every single way_  
_And everything I could give_  
_Is everything you couldn't take_  
_Cause nothing feels like home, you're a thousand miles away_  
_And the hardest part of living_  
_Is just taking breaths to stay_

-Miserable at Best by The Mayday Parade

* * *

Ed's POV

God is a concept that has never seemed plausible to me. Its something that I find stupid, some kind of irrational being created in desperate attempt to make something the masses could follow, something to guide the way and keep them going when their own feet couldn't. Something made by eternal optimisms. I've met people that disagree, people that spend their whole life believing and supporting something that, to me at least, is as real as Santa Clause. I have even met those that claim that God has spoken to them, graced them with his wisdom and guided them in life. Personally, I don't believe it.

But then again, I am a sinner. How would I know? God could personally be mailing his followers invitations and I would be none the wiser. After all, why would _he _bother with _me_?

Sin has always followed me. I have killed, broken, ruined and basically forsaken the lives of those around me. Sin clouds my very being, my very soul, leaving me with a sense of loneliness and hopelessness so deep I'm scared it will never leave. It sinks into my heart, seeping into my bones and lingering in my eyes. Sometimes, I feel as though my mistakes are so thick and cover me so entirely that those around me can physically see it.

Why, then, should I have expected this to be any different?

How could I have been so _stupid? _I let myself believe that something could work, that it wouldn't fall to pieces in front of me. How could I have been so _naïve? _Nothing worked, not for me. I was still paying for my own original sin; it won't stop now, just because I wanted – needed - it to. How could I have been so _desperate? _I was backed into a corner. So withdrawn from human touch that when the chance come I leapt at it. He wasn't even human… but he was warm and soft and _there _and I was weak. And so _stupid._

There are so many things that I wish I hadn't done. I'm not sure if he's one of them. I wish it didn't have to be like this but…

I love (d?) him and the thought of never having that chance... well, it scares me.

I knew my life was never going to be perfect. Gate, who am I kidding? I knew my life was going to end in pain, anguish and a rain of blood so magnificent people would cringe at the sight. Now it feels as though my life has ended (shattered, broken) and the pain and anguish is there but… where is the blood? There should be blood. There needed to be blood. The last nail in the coffin of thorns; the blood _needed _to be there.

So it was.

And, for a while, everything was okay. Empty, broken, but okay. The way it was supposed to be.

Then someone else had to get involved.

And, as I sat huddled in the corner, trembling all over in pain (fear?), I had to ask myself;

How did it come to this? When did things spin so wildly out of control? Midnight blue eyes flinched away from mine and something deep within me ached. I wish I knew. I wish I knew. How did I let myself end up here?

* * *

Roy couldn't look at him. He couldn't… just _couldn't. _He was mad, his entire body shaking with suppressed anger. But he was sad also, filled with a sorrowful misery that threatened to consume him. He felt anger, sadness, fear, hurt, sympathy, shame, regret, guilt, pity and boarder-line hysteria.

But he felt no surprise.

He stared down at the trails of blood, his stomach heaving, threatening to rebel and bring his lunch back up. He needed to get hold of himself, needed to get over it and get a goddamn _grip _on his emotions. He had seen Ishval! He had seen the result of Scar's vengeance, seen murders so bloody that many a soldier had refused to partake in any mission involving them. He had seen people cut open, shot, beaten, tortured, broken, _burnt… _so why was he reacted like this? It was just a little blood…

His stomach heaved again.

Because it was Edward. Edward was the one covered in blood, his wrists slashed open in careless, jig-jag lines. It was Edward on the tiles in front of him, gazing up at him with those too-familiar empty eyes. It was Edward who had done this, Edward who had been driven this far. And damn him if that didn't make it all the more real.

Roy couldn't look at him.

A gun lay discarded in the corner. There was nothing practically special about it; just a standard military-issued gun. Roy himself owned one. When he turned his head, the metal caught the light and glinted innocently.

He couldn't look at it either.

Silence fell over the apartment. It was thick and heavy and cold. It laid itself over the two alchemists like a blanket of snow, setting itself there and putting even more distance between the two of them. Eyes still averted carefully, Roy walked to the opposite side of the kitchen and sat down. He stared down at his open palms, kept his expression carefully neutral, and thought.

* * *

The only sound in the room was his own labored breathing – _remember, in and out, in and out, don't stop, keep calm, in and out, in and out – _and the soft _pat pat _of his automail fingers drumming nervously against his jeans. Across from him, behind the wall that had built itself up in the middle of the room, sat Roy Mustang. _Roy Mustang. _Ed looked at his injured arm and leg and swallowed thickly.

He was screwed. Mustang was sure to shout and scream and tear strips of him, insulting him and everything he was, everything he knew.

The silence stretched onward.

Mustang was going to erupt in a terrifying rant, throwing harsh _how could you's _and _what were you thinking _and _you're so _stupid at him as he stood, stance strong, eyes narrowed in that familiar way they did as the man would fight the urge to pull out his gloves and finish the job Edward had started.

…any second now.

There wasn't a clock in his little square kitchen (built for one person, cluttered with junk food boxes and that one little cat calendar Al had sent him; one of his brother's many attempts to try and bring colour to the dreary place) but Ed did not stand and find one. The time, ticking past continuously, was of no consequence to the occupants of this room. It was such a petty thing that he was sure that if he did try and find out what it was or tried to ask Mustang about it, it would be the finally breaking point in the man's emotion dam.

And that was one river Ed could do without facing, thank you very much.

So, huddled against a corner, Ed simply gripped his arm tighter, evened his breathing out and tried not to stare at his superior.

Minutes slowly ticket past. Neither alchemist moved. Fighting down his nerves, Ed concentrated on remembering to breath.

_In and out._

Mustang was still staring at his gloveless palms.

_In and out._

What could he be thinking?

_In and out._

Roy's eyebrows twitched, rising slightly before plunging back down, setting themselves there and making him look so much older.

_In and out._

Why wouldn't he say anything?

_In and out._

What was the point in this, sitting here like school children, watching and waiting for time to snail past? What was Mustang hoping to gain from this?

_In and out._

It was still silent.

_In and out._

Edward thought he might scream, if only to stop the damned, never ending-

"Edward?" Mustang. Finally. The man must have worked through his inner monologue far enough to-

Oh god. Oh _god. _Here it comes. Dark and hateful and loud and accusing and-

"May… may I ask you a question?"

He wanted to answer but he couldn't seem to remember how to, panic gripping him and holding him firmly in place.

_In and out, in and out._

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to…" Mustang was still staring at his hands. _Look at me! _Edward wanted to shout. _Look at me, you coward! Look me in the eye!_

_In and out, in and out, in and out._

"Why did you do it?'

_In and out and in and out and-_

"No… no, don't answer that. That's not what I want to ask." He finally looked up, dark eyes piercing his. Edward lowered his gaze. "If you were hurting like this, why didn't you come to me about it?"

_Breathe._

"Please, I don't- I… I just," Roy buried his head into his hands. The man, once so calm and collected, sounded a mess. As though he was physically breaking apart, the seams that held him together tearing at this sudden revelation. More vulnerable than Ed had ever heard him sound before, Roy said, "I don't know what to do. Please, Ed," it sounded almost as though he was pleading, begging, wanting, _needing_ an answer, "I don't know what to do. Tell me, tell me… what am I to do?"

Ed didn't know.

When it was obvious he wasn't going to receive an answer, Roy let his shoulders slump in defeat, as though the weight of the problem – the weight of Ed - was physically weighing him down.

The room descended into silence once more.

* * *

The sunlight streaming into the room was just beginning to fade when Edward finally began to calm. His breathing evened out, his heart rate slowed and the cuts littering a few, choice sections of his body began to clot.

Mustering up what little courage he didn't possess, Edward whispered an almost silent, "Roy?" If he heard it, the man gave away no hints. "You don't have to stay here." When no response was offered, he continued on, slightly more confident. "I know this is making you uncomfortable… a-and I know you feel like you can't leave me here, but its okay. I'm not your responsibility."

"And what would you do?" Mustang finally said. His head was still bowed, his eyes refusing to focus on the blonde opposite him.

"Pardon?"

"If I was to leave, walk out that door right now, what would you do?"

"Why should it matter?"

"Because, despite what you may think, Fullmetal, you _are _my responsibility," when he looked up, Ed flinched at the accusation he saw in those eyes. When coupled with the words Mustang spoke, it made him feel a little sick.

"Am not," he grumbled, somewhat childishly. "I stopped being that the moment I turned 18."

"You're still my subordinate, and no subordinate of mine would – would-" Roy couldn't bring himself to say it, gesturing helplessly towards the armful of scars, "do _that."_

"Well, when have I ever followed the rules, anyway?"

Even when Ed offered him a hollow smile, Roy's face stayed as impassive as ever, devoid of any emotion or thought. Ed began to feel a little sicker.

"Its not funny. Is this a joke to you? How can you so lightly brush this off?"

"I'm not brushing it off. I've just accepted this."

"_Accepted_ this?" the words, dripping with disgust, were spat from curled, angry lips. That hurt. "How can you accept something so twisted?"

He hated this. Ever since his mother died (no, he'd still had to look after Al then and, when his mother had fallen sick, he'd had to look after her to) no one had ever looked out for his well being. Not really. Even with Al, his mental and emotional condition was pushed aside, shoved to the back of both of their minds, in favour of those around him. And now – now, when Ed was balancing on the edge of blade, tilting precariously from side to side and in serious danger of falling – someone cared. Now, someone noticed. And Ed _didn't want him to._

"Yeah," Ed said after a pause, "I can. I mean… after everything I've done, why shouldn't I be able to?" Several moments passed. "Mustang?"

"…Yeah?"

He took several deep breaths inward and avoided his superior's gaze. "Do you…" emotions be damned, Ed needed to get this out, needed to say this. "Do you hate me?"

"I hate what you did."

Something deep within him twitched and fell. And shattered.

For a moment, Ed forgot how to breathe, the truth within those words ringing through his mind and his heart and-

"But I don't hate you."

For the second time, Ed forgot how to breathe.

_In and out._

"You… don't?" Ed hated how small he sounded. How his words betrayed him, portraying him as something delicate and fragile. He hated the emotion that bleed into his words, seeping through the air between them and branding themselves on the memory of both alchemists. He hated how weak he sounded. How weak he felt. How weak he was.

How the mighty have fallen.

"No." Roy's voice lowered with his and, like before, Ed was reminded of how vulnerable Mustang looked. "I don't hate you, Ed. I don't."

Ed wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

"I just… need some time."

Roy stood, crossed the little tiled kitchen - scooping up the gun and blade as he went - and disappeared from sight. Faintly, Ed heard the front door click shut.

That night, Edward cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Don't worry, not a one-shot. I'm not that cruel.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.

TBC (…maybe)


End file.
